


stormy sea

by NiciJones



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Illness, Inaccurate Timelines, M/M, fisherman!Armie, history being butchered, small fishing village, writer!Timothée
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19310014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiciJones/pseuds/NiciJones
Summary: Timmy is sick so to give his lungs a break his mother has arranged for him to live in a small fishing village. An old woman called Tatyana takes him in for three months.There's a lot what Timmy learns in his time there. About himself, the village and love.But all things come to an end.





	stormy sea

**Author's Note:**

> What is she doing? Why is she posting again? Dudes, I don't know. I can tell you however that about 80% of this was actually written last summer in Norway in a gorgeous living room. The idea for this actually came to me on the road trip there. If you are interested in the story behind this story check out my [blog](https://charmie-inspiration.tumblr.com/), I plan to upload a post (with some gorgeous pictures) to explain and show you what I was imagining writing. 
> 
> Anyway, this was edited today. I also added a few scenes to round things up. It's not as happy as the other I posted today. If you haven't read that it might be a good idea to use it as a cheer-up.

_A drop in the ocean_  
_A change in the weather_  
_I was praying that you and me might end up together._  
_It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert_  
_But I'm holding you closer than most_  
_'Cause you are my heaven._

**“A Drop In The Ocean” by Ron Pope**

Timmy arrives on a Sunday. The weather is beautiful as he drags the big suitcase across the street from the only bus stop in the village. He looks up and down the few houses and fishes the wrinkled note out of his pocket that his mother had written for him. In her convoluted writing, she had written the address of his home for the next three months.  
Timmy looks up to find a street sign and the wind catches his hair, wiping it around playfully. For the lack of a better idea, he walks down the street towards the road leading down towards the water. He can already smell the salt of the sea and the distinct scent of dead algae and fish. The heavy suitcase drags across the asphalt and he’s glad his mother can’t see it. Even like that, he has to stop and cough, drawing in ragged breaths.  
When he looks up he sees an old man watching him. Timmy wonders what he’s thinking. His face is wrinkled and his hair white, the skin tanned by the sun over the years. His expression is unreadable. In fact, Timmy isn’t sure he has taken notice of him at all.  
Uncomfortable he drags the suitcase along. Finally, he reaches the house with the right address. He drops the suitcase and climbs the three steps up to the front door. The house is normally sized with two stories and a white wooden facade. Friendly enough, Timmy thinks and rings the bell.  
He hears steps and an elderly voice calls assures him that she heard him.

A moment later the door opens and Timmy looks down at an old woman with a warm smile on her face.  
“You must be young Timothée! I knew you were coming today. Cleaned the whole house! Such a nice young man from the city would be shocked, I thought. But come in, come in! I baked a little pie. Not a lot of fruit around here but I went to the market in the next town over to get some. You want coffee? Tea?” She asks and turns, leading the way into the house.  
Timmy grabs the handle of his suitcase and drags it inside. He finds himself in a hallway that is leading towards a room with a big window front. Perhaps the living room?  
“You’ll be sleeping upstairs. Leave the luggage at the stairs for now. I get someone to bring it up later. You are here to heal after all.” Timmy nods and follows her. 

Her pie is fantastic and after a bit of idle chatter, Timmy loosens up. He has nothing to do but get coddled by her and read some books while inhaling the salty air.  
Before night falls a muscly man, about 50 years old, comes in and apologises that the one who she originally called for, Timmy can’t recall the exact name, couldn’t make it. He’s her obedient servant and carries the bag up without a complaint. However, he does shoot Timmy a sceptical look. You don’t exactly have to be a genius to figure out that they don’t exactly like strangers around here.  
The man takes a piece of pie with him before he leaves. After all, there’s no one at home to bake for him as Tatyana, the old lady, claims, and Stephan himself doesn’t have the time. Works all day, the good boy. He nods and shakes his head and lets her kiss his forehead before leaving.  
This is good, Timmy thinks. Even if they are wary of him now, they seem to trust her and she seems to like him just fine. He trots up the stairs. 

 

Timmy’s days are sun-filled and mostly spent reading books. Either by the window in his room or down by the little port where small fishing boats come and leave. He drinks coffee and then moves to the mural by the beach. Sometimes reading, sometimes just staring in the sky or the water.  
It’s good to not have to think about home and the future. There’s no reminder here of what he’ll have to do when he gets back home. He can just be and not worry about anything. 

He doesn’t have much contact with anyone aside from Tatyana. The waitress at the café, he always goes to, only talks to take his order and he hasn’t tried to strike up more of a conversation either. And that’s all the interaction he has aside from Tatyana. 

That is until the day Tatyana sends him to bring fish “from the Hammer boy”. He knows the fishing boat with the Hammer company’s name on it so he strolls up to it when it comes back in the evening. A tall man is hosing the deck. His feet are stuck in yellow wellies and he’s wearing waders in olive green. His hair is still a little wet and tousled from the wind.  
Timmy shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks around hoping to be noticed. Sadly, he doesn’t or the man doesn’t bother to say anything about it. 

Eventually, Timmy realises he’d have to speak up to get his attention. “Uhm, excuse me?” He asks carefully.  
The man turns around but doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t give any reaction away but it is unfairly handsome. Compared to the other fishermen who are all older or not very attractive he stands out with the piercing blue eyes and blonde hair.  
For a moment Timmy forgets what he wanted to say. It’s only when the man sends him a pointed look that he remembers he probably should say something.  
“Oh, Tatyana sends me to get fish from a Hammer boy?” He asks carefully hoping he’s not offending anyone. “Her words not mine.” He adds quickly and reaches up to nervously tuck his hair back. 

The tense line of the man’s shoulder relaxes slightly and he nods. “Of course. I prepared her fish packet already.” He shuts off the water and elegantly jumps back on land. The other fishermen that accompany him to the sea have left already, Timmy notices. “Follow me.” He orders casually and walks over to the workshop of the small and slightly rusty building with the word HAMMER in capital letters painted on the front. 

 

Timmy does as he’s told and carefully peaks into the workshop. It has a big garage door which is open. There is boat stuff lying all around with tools and ice buckets to keep fish fresh. The smell of dead fish is even more intense in here and Timmy refrains from covering his nose. It’s bad enough to be the boy from the city in a village full of fishing families.  
“Here.” There’s a packet with fish shoved into his hands. He can feel their lifeless cold bodies through the wrapping. 

“Thanks.” He says unsure what to do now. Should he just leave?  
The man, the Hammer boy apparently, props his hip against a workbench and scrutinises him shamelessly. Did no one tell him that this is rude? Timmy squirms under his gaze.  
“So, you’re the stray Tatyana has taken in?” He asks eventually. “I was supposed to come and carry your luggage up that first day you came here, you know?” He says like he’s expecting some kind of praise for it while pushing away from the workbench and turning to get a towel to wipe his hands with. 

“Oh,” is all that Timmy can think of saying and scolds himself at the same moment for it.  
“Everyone is probably intimidated by you. The young man from the city. Don’t let it get to your head. You’re probably the most exciting thing to have happened here since-“ he pauses in his speech and movements there before catching himself. “In awhile.” He finishes eventually and Timmy notices that it’s the most anyone here had spoken to him aside from Tatyana. He also thinks that Hammer apparently hadn’t been born here or has seen more than just this village. Like Timmy, he refers to the people here as an own entity that has its own customs which are different and foreign compared to his own. 

“Sometimes I feel like an exotic animal in a zoo.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. It’s probably the wrong thing to say. Just because the man doesn’t share the views of the others doesn’t mean he isn’t deeply loyal to them. 

He’s pleasantly surprised by a bark of laughter. “I bet. Don’t be intimidated by them either then. Since Tatyana has apparently taken a liking to you, you have nothing to be afraid of. Everyone here adores her. She’s like therapist, mother, priest and then some to this village and its inhabitants.”  
Timmy nods. “I’ve noticed.” He admits. Sometimes he comes home and there’s someone sitting at the kitchen table with Tatyana. Sometimes with a piece of pie and coffee, sometimes with a shot of alcohol. Sometimes they’re grinning, sometimes barely holding back tears. Whatever she’s doing and Timmy suspects it mostly involves listening and some generally good advice, seems to help. 

“Now go before she doesn’t get her fish in time. She hates that.” The man says.  
“Oh yeah sure.” Timmy turns and is almost outside again before he turns back. “I’m Timmy by the way.”  
The man grins at him and his teeth are white. “Believe me, I know. Told you, you’re the most exciting thing here right now. I’m Armie.”  
Timmy can’t stop his grin from widening. “Cool. I’ll see you around.” He shouts before turning around and walking back with a happy bounce in his step. 

 

That night Timmy uses the typewriter for the first time. Tatyana has told him he could. She barely uses it anyhow. It’s mostly there to be pretty and modern.  
He’d used them before in the city and he recognises it’s a simple model but functional. He puts a sheet of paper in and flexes his fingers. At first, he doesn’t know what to write but eventually, the words come to him. It feels a lot like Moby Dick which is what he’d been reading lately and he’s probably going to throw it away the next day but that’s okay. It’s just about bleeding some words onto the paper. 

 

Timmy is right in the end. He can’t even bring himself to read again what he wrote the previous evening but throws it away immediately. That’s okay though. He had written for no one but himself.  
He continues to write. Sometimes just a few words, sometimes frantically for hours. It’s a nice change from reading books all day. And once he has started there is so much that wants out. He writes poems, short stories, memories… sometimes just an idea stringed together by a couple of sentences. 

The days pass between him going to the port to read and sitting down in the evening mostly to write. Sometimes he has an idea almost runs the way back to write it down. Eventually, Tatyana forces him to take a notepad with him.

 

He talks with Tatyana about Armie. Apparently, there’s some sort of story involving him but she makes clear that it’s not her place to tell him about it. “He’s a good boy. Too lonely though. He lives quite a bit away but stays in the village during the week to go fishing with his crew. He’s loyal down to the bone. Really a good boy.” She explains.  
Timmy thinks this is probably why he doesn’t think of himself as one of them no matter how loyal to them he is or how much time he spends with them. 

 

He goes down to the port again that day and positions himself to watch the Hammer boat come and leave. He doesn’t admit it to himself at first but he keeps glancing up as they prepare to leave and in the afternoon he finds himself searching the horizon impatiently expecting them back anytime now. 

So when they do come back he puts his book down and walks over to the wall at the seaside that leads towards the beach. Like this, he can’t see them anymore and focuses instead on the book again. 

That is until someone speaks up next to him. “Is that really comfortable?”  
Timmy turns his head and looks up at Armie. He’s lying on the concrete with his jacket shoved under his head. So he shakes his head. “Not really. But the view and soft breeze kinda make up for it?” He tells him.  
Armie looks up like he just now notices that there’s an ocean here.  
“I guess it has its appeal.” 

Timmy sits up and brushes his hair back while Armie settles next to him.  
“You have to know this,” Timmy says. Why else would Armie still be working here when he usually lives somewhere else?  
“I do.” He’s silent for a moment then just taking in the view for a moment. “I sleep up there,” Armie adds eventually and gestures towards the windows above the workshop. “It’s old and rusty but the view is magnificent. First thing I see when I wake up every morning.”

Timmy’s window faces towards the port as well and he almost suspects that Tatyana cleared it especially for him. When he had written last evening he’d sometimes looked up and watched the water outside. It’s peaceful and so different from home.  
“It’s something magical, I think. You should be thankful for it. We only have stinking cars in the city.” Timmy explains. 

Armie nods. “I am grateful. Going out to fish is what keeps me alive.” He explains. “What about you? If the city is so suffocating to you why do you still live there?” He asks.  
Timmy shakes his head. “It’s not always this easy.”  
Armie nods. “But sometimes it is.”  
“Yeah. Sometimes it is.” Another silence falls between them. 

“I’m here to let my lungs heal. I often cough. It may be chronic by now. No one knows why though. Could be something bad, could just be a cold that I never got fully rid of.” Timmy finds himself explaining. Somehow he wants Armie to know. It’s easy to share this with him. “I’m here for three months then I’ll return home to the city.”  
Armie nods and is quiet again. This time for so long that Timmy picks his book back up and starts reading again. 

 

When the night starts to fall and it begins to be hard to read Timmy stands up and dusts himself down. Wordlessly, Armie follows him. They trail down the short distance to the workshop and stop there. 

Somehow it feels easy to fill the silence between them with a truth that he hasn’t even admitted to himself. “Sometimes, it feels like I’m not going to survive this visit, you know? Like worrying about what’s going to happen at home is pointless.”  
Armie pauses taking his time to find an answer. “It’s pointless either way. Nothing is going to change until you return there anyway.”  
Timmy shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Maybe. I just feel like my life is going to end here. That’s not a bad thing. I like it here.”  
Armie looks at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.” He nods and turns away walking into the workshop. 

 

It becomes a routine then between them. Timmy waits in the café reading one book or another, glancing at the horizon while drinking coffee. Susan, the waitress, shoots him knowing looks but never says something about it. 

When the boat comes in, he grows visibly more restless fidgeting in his seat and watching the workers carry the fish towards the cold store more than reading his book. More often than not though he watches Armie. There are things he notices and can’t stop focusing on even when they are close. 

Armie’s skin is much more weathered than Timmy’s and when Timmy isn’t finished sipping his coffee, Armie orders a cold beer. When they walk in the sand at the beach he notices how much bigger his feet are. Sometimes Armie will wrestle him playfully and it reminds Timmy how much taller he is when usually Timmy is the tall one. But for Timmy, the source for endless wonder is Armie’s hands. 

When they sit on the wall facing the beach when he notices them first. Armie had been resting on them, leaned back relaxedly. Curiously he takes one of them between his own hands. It’s much bigger with the long fingers. The skin there is tanned, too, and he has freckles as well as a tattoo on his wrist. Timmy traces the Cyrillic letters curiously.  
“What does it mean?” He asks and looks up questioningly at Armie.  
“It’s my family name,” he answers quietly.  
“Hammer?”  
Armie nods. “A reminder of what I’ve been through and why.”  
“They were not good people?” Timmy asks thumb hovering over his pulse.  
“Yes, you could say that,” Armie confirms.  
“I’m sorry.” Before Armie can say anything more he kissed the inside of his wrist. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here now.” He can hear Armie’s breath hitch but he doesn’t think about it. 

His fingers wander up then and he lets his thumb caress the calluses on his palm. He’s never felt that before. It’s fascinating and he could spend all day watching how their hands fit together despite being so different. Perhaps even because of it? He entwines their fingers and rests them on his thigh. They look good there.  
Armie’s hand feels warm and comforting around his own and Timmy sighs and leans his head against Armie’s shoulder. Yeah, he definitely wouldn’t mind dying if this is how it ends.  
“I like this. I like this a lot, Armie.” He murmurs and stares out where the sun is setting over the ocean.  
In answer, Armie lets his thumb grace over the back of Timmy’s hand. 

 

One time they start bickering at the beach and Armie chases him until he collapses in a coughing fit and Armie has to carry him back home. Timmy can hear Tatyana scolding Armie but can’t get enough air into his lungs to defend him. 

Armie carries him up the stairs while Tatyana prepares a soothing stock with herbs. He’d given her the recipe for such cases. She brings the bowl up along with a towel and he inhales it greedily pulling the towel over his head so he’s caught in the bubble of hot air. It takes awhile but the coughing stops eventually. 

When he emerges he sees Armie has found his writing. By now there are pages strewn across the desk. He’d produced some that he’d been somewhat happy with and made annotations with a pencil on them to change certain parts or sentences. 

“Oh god no, don’t look at that.” Timmy protests weakly. He’d started out writing what he’s getting to know and what fascinates him at the moment. This village and especially Armie. Mostly Armie. There are pages about Armie’s hand.  
“No. This is really good, Timmy.” Armie says and picks one up turning towards Timmy.  
He can make out the sketch of the sunset at the bottom of the paper so he guesses it’s one of the landscape pieces. Thankfully.  
“This one. You should write about our wall.” Armie says and it’s not something Timmy had expected.  
“If you want me to?” He says tentatively.  
“Not right now. You need to rest. Tatyana is going to bring a hot and greasy dinner so you get back on your feet quickly. I need to go down and sleep. I have an early morning tomorrow.” Armie tells him. He stands up and goes over to Timmy’s bed. “Get some rest. I expect you to meet me at the pier tomorrow again. Bring one of your drafts. I’d love to read more.” He makes clear and smoothes a hand through Timmy’s curls. 

“Don’t go.” Timmy pleads following an impulse. If Armie’s hand felt this good wrapped around his, how good is it going to feel on his body?  
Armie looks at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “No, Timmy. Tatyana will take care of you. You’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Timmy’s forehead that makes his skin tingle.  
“Okay.” He agrees, just thankful that Armie isn’t withdrawing because he overstepped a line. 

 

Tatyana fusses over him the next day and doesn’t even let him leave the house. She makes him bundle up before opening the window to let the salty air inside.  
“He should’ve looked after you better. That boy isn’t happy often enough.” She shakes her head as she puts a mug of tea down on the nightstand.  
“He didn’t mean to, really. It was my fault for chasing after him again and again.” Timmy defends his friend before breaking out into another coughing fit.  
She looks at him like she’s unsure whether to scold or pity him. In the end, she just shakes her head. 

She comes back later, closes the window and relieves him from the blankets. “You really like him, don’t you?” She asks and sits down on the bed next to him.  
Timmy shrugs. “I can’t connect to the others. They’ve been here all their lives and they make me feel like an intruder. He doesn’t.”  
“It’s always been part of Armie’s charm. More cosmopolitan businessman than village fisherman sometimes. The girls loved and hated him for it. He’s always been handsome but inside-“ She shakes her head. “A troubled soul.” She says. 

A troubled soul. The phrase rolls through Timmy’s mind. A turmoil, a storm and amidst it Timmy feels like a small boat unable to fight the current and being equal parts scared and excited where it might take him.  
He jumps up and runs over to the desk grabbing the nearest pencil and scribbling down the words and phrases to remember them.  
“You are supposed to rest! Timothée, what will your mother say when she finds out I have not been taking good care of you? A lady from the city!” Tatyana protests.  
“The city doesn’t know a lady. Only the sea does.” Timmy insists and takes a fresh sheet of paper.  
He doesn’t hear Tatyana’s disagreeing click of tongue or her leaving him to pour over his notes. 

_He who is the troubled sea_  
_And me who is the rocking boat_  
_Cradled in his embrace_  
_…_

 

When they meet the next day Armie takes Timmy up to his flat for the first time. It’s very simple and small. A kitchen nook, a worn couch and a latter leading up to his sleeping place. It’s very Armie, he thinks while Armie offers for him to sit, apologising that there’s no table and therefore no chairs. 

“Tatyana said you don’t usually live here.” Timmy points out.  
“Sometimes I stay in the summer so I can go on the morning trip as well,” Armie explains and gets a beer out of the fridge. “Do you want one?”  
Timmy shrugs. Alcohol doesn’t really go well with his medicine.  
“I don’t really have anything else to drink.” Armie notices embarrassed. “Unless you want a glass of water.”  
Timmy shrugs. “No problem.”

Armie gets a glass from a shelf and fills it with water from the tap. He walks over and settles next to Timmy. “Sorry, I don’t usually have guests.”  
“I don’t mind.” Timmy takes a sip of water before he rests the glass on his thigh. “You haven’t left though. Not even on the weekends. Since I’m paying attention at least.” He points out.  
Armie buys time by sipping his beer. “Yeah.”

Timmy waits for more until he realises he’s only going to get awkward silence. By the point he does, he’s not sure how to pick the conversation up again. He clears his throat and runs his finger around the rim of his glass. 

“So why aren't you living here? You love it here, don’t you?” Timmy asks eventually.  
“My wife doesn’t,” Armie says and his tone is very final.  
“Oh.”  
Armie looks him in the eyes when he adds, “She doesn’t want our children to grow up here.”  
“Oh,” Timmy says again and thinks he needs to stop. There had been no reason for him to assume Armie is single. He just did.  
But, since they’re talking about wives… “I’m supposed to marry when I come back.” He says matter of factly. 

“What’s her name?” Armie asks.  
“Saoirse,” Timmy says thinking of her untamed nature and fierce stubbornness.  
“Do you love her?” Armie asks.  
“She’s a good match from a respectable family. I really like her.” Timmy says and means it. He can’t imagine being married to some obedient wife who dutifully does his laundry and cooks every meal for him and their children. Saoirse is not like that and he’s grateful that both of their parents agreed to their match. 

“That’s not what I asked you, Timmy. Do you love her?” Armie asks.  
Timmy looks up at him, surprised at his insistence. Usually, people are happy with that answer. He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think I really know what that means. To love someone.”  
“Marriage is not the answer,” Armie says and takes another sip of his beer.  
“I didn’t think that.” Timmy defends himself. 

“No, but people think that and it’s bullshit.” He doesn’t say anymore and Timmy doesn’t ask.  
“What does love feel like?” Timmy does dare to ask in the end.  
Armie sighs. “Love is accepting someone completely and loving them for who they are. Instead of trying to change them. Like a good friendship, a smoked fish and laughing until your belly hurts. It’s talking about anything at all and having them understand you.”  
“Have you been in love?” Timmy asks quietly.  
“I thought I was but my definition was wrong,” Armie explains.  
“It’s not easy, is it?”  
“No, love never is,” Armie confirms and they continue to sit in silence. 

 

Time ticks by. Their breathing is the only sound aside from the distant crashing of waves against the beach. “I need to call Tatyana,” Timmy says and gets up emptying the glass and placing it into the sink.  
“Go ahead,” Armie says and gestures towards the telephone hanging on the wall.  
Timmy flips through the telephone book until he finds the right number. He enters the number over the dial plate. Tatyana picks up eventually and he tells her he doesn’t know when he’s going to be home. She tells him it’s okay, she understands and he should give Armie her love. 

He hangs up and turns around. Armie has emptied his beer and put the empty bottle on the floor. When he looks up there’s a silent understanding passing between them. Maybe it’s just coming from Timmy. He doesn’t actually know whether Armie is thinking the same thing. His heart lurches up into his throat as he realises what he’s about to do. He can only hope he’s not making a huge mistake. 

He walks towards Armie and swiftly settles on his lap. Without pause, he leans in and captures Armie’s lips. In a second Armie surges up to meet him and Timmy’s sweaty hands wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer. There’s a little sigh escaping one of them as they continue to kiss. They are greedy but not in a hurry. Armie’s hands settle on Timmy’s waist and hold him close. They feel as big on his body as they did when wrapped around his hand. 

For a long time they just kiss, only parting for air from time to time. And it’s enough. Timmy doesn’t feel like it’s a means to an end. They are enjoying to explore each other’s mouths, barely touching aside from it. 

 

After what feels like an eternity they part, panting for air and just- embracing each other and holding on. Timmy buries his face in Amie’s neck and simply tries to process what just happened. That it really happened and isn’t just some dream. Armie gets up and carries him over to the ladder that leads up to the nook he sleeps in. 

Timmy understands and starts climbing, followed closely by Armie. A mattress is tucked under the pitch of the roof there and laden with blankets and pillows. A window allows to watch the stars outside.  
After a moment of hesitation, Timmy pulls off his shirt and jeans before slipping under the blankets. Armie follows his example and wraps his arm around him as soon as he’s made sure that Timmy is tucked in completely.  
Timmy looks up and marvels at the night sky. You don’t get to see this in the city.  
Armie presses a kiss to his temple before burying his face in Timmy’s shoulders and closing his eyes. 

It feels incredibly peaceful like at this moment no one could experience any harm. Timmy smiles and turns to look at Armie’s truly relaxed face before pressing a kiss to his forehead. There are no words exchanged but there are no words necessary or fitting for this moment anyway. Before he closes his eyes he entwines his fingers with Armie’s. 

 

When Timmy wakes up the next day Armie is long gone. It’s a cloudy and windy day and Timmy has to steal one of Armie’s sweaters to bundle up in before he makes his way back to Tatyana’s. 

 

Armie does tell him his story. It’s a late evening and the whole village has gathered to celebrate midsummer. Fish is being served in all varieties. Music is dancing over the main square at the port. Timmy and Armie have filled their tummies but are now sitting on their mural, away from the small crowd. 

“This is not the only Hammer fishery.” Armie starts out of nowhere. Timmy is leaning against his side, taking advantage of his warmth.  
“Oh, do you own like a chain of them?”  
“No, they belong to my dad. It’s- it’s actually quite the empire with factories and stuff. My shop doesn’t belong to him anymore. I just left the name. I mean what else am I supposed to call it?”  
Timmy hums waiting for Armie to continue. 

“I was supposed to take over the business but- I didn’t want to leave this. We all used to live here in a big villa a bit away. But this was my home and I learned how to fish here. For awhile I did what everyone wanted me to. I learned from my dad what it means to lead that company, I married and got a picturesque little house in the suburbs of the city.  
And then I put my foot down when my dad wanted to close this small outpost. It didn’t matter to him financially but Dawid, Ivo, Alvar… they would all have lost their jobs and I knew their wives and their children and so did my dad. I just couldn’t understand how he could do that? So I put all the money I had at the time on the table and bought this all.”

Timmy doesn’t think that Armie has ever spoken this much to him.  
“You’re a good guy, Armie,” Timmy assures him and entwines their fingers.  
Armie chuckles a little. “I think my wife still hates me for that. I could have been leading one of the most influential companies around here but instead, I decide to go fishing with my three employees from dawn to dusk. She hates the smell of it. That’s why she doesn’t come here. But I won’t give this up. There’s nothing else I would want to do.”  
“That’s okay,” Timmy says because probably no one has ever told him. He turns his head to bury his nose in Armie’s shirt that smells like sweat and salt and fish.

 

Time passes. Timmy continues to write, Armie continues to go out to fish every day. At night, they often sleep tangled up or making love under the stars. They talk and laugh and Timmy reads his writing to Armie and Armie holds him when another coughing attack shakes him. They eat smoked fish, share all their secrets and laugh until their bellies hurt.

 

After three months, Timmy goes back to the city. He marries Saoirse. He stops writing. He takes all the pages with him and puts them into a box at the back of their attic. In his dreams, he still sees the sunset over the sea and feels big hands wrapped around him. He still hears his voice and feels his stubble brush against his naked shoulder. He wakes to tears streaming down his face. 

His cough attacks get worse. He mostly spends his days inside or in the garden behind their house. He has to inhale soothing fumes three times a day but he knows it isn’t working. He’s just waiting for the end. At least it prevents him from being drafted into the war overseas.  
He does his best for Saoirse who he loves like a sister and who speaks more and more often of traveling the world. It seemed fitting to lose her to the call of the sea. She preached that book she found of the first female captain so Timmy arranges a meeting with her and sees himself looking at Armie the moment they meet.

One day, he gets a telegram in a letter with his address on it. A note informs him that ‘ _I found your address in his things. Maybe you appreciate knowing._ ’ The telegram reads:

MRS ELIZABETH HAMMER  
DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR HUSBAND PRIVATE ARMAND DOUGLAS HAMMER DIED 20 MAY 1945 OF WOUNDS RECEIVED IN ACTION AT OKINAWA ISLAND RYUKYU ISLANDS IN THE PERFORMANCE OF HIS DUTY AND SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY. WHEN INFORMATION IS RECEIVED REGARDING BURIAL YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED. TO PREVENT POSSIBLE AID TO OUR ENEMIES DO NOT DIVULGE THE NAME OF HIS SHIP OR STATION. PLEASE ACCEPT MY HEARTFELT SYMPATHY.  
JAMES C VEILLEUX COMMANDANT OF THE MARINE CORPS.

His condition gets much worse after that. He had always known that he was mostly keeping himself alive by pure will. He just hadn’t known that the whole idea of Armie being out there fishing calmly had been the thing to keep him fighting. He had never even considered he could’ve been deployed. It made sense though. He was tall, strong and knew his way around boats. Of course, they’d want him in the marine. And now they killed him.

Timothée dies three months after receiving the notice. He leaves all his money to Saoirse so she can finally travel the world like she always wanted to and not take care of her sick husband. She ends up publishing his works that she finds in the attic under the title ‘ _He Was The Sea_ ’ and the name _T. Chalamet_. It becomes a critically acclaimed bestseller. Only many years later, a young literature student would find out that the beautiful poems were written by a man and it becomes an important work for the LGBT community. 

Decades later, Timmy’s words would still inspire young minds to write about the two men who fell in love by the sea where reality couldn’t touch them. And maybe there was some sort of afterlife in which Timmy and Armie are sitting on the wall by the beach holding hands and staring out at the sea right now.

_Zieh, zieh, zieh solang_   
_Deine Lungenflügel dich noch halten könn'n_   
_[...]_   
_Und du sagst, du hast keine Angst vor dem Tod_   
_Zwar beginnt ein neuer Abschnitt, doch dann gehts' wieder los_   
_Du lächelst und ich weine eine Träne in dein'n Schoß_   
**“Sommer” by Jeremias**

_[Take a drag, drag, drag as long_   
_As the wings of your lungs can still carry you_   
_(note: that German word for lung means one half of the lung and would literally be translated to ‘lung wing’)_   
_…_   
_And you say you’re not afraid of death_   
_Though a new stage begins but then it begins again_   
_You smile and I cry a tear in your lap]_

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK I AM SORRY I HOPE YOU DID ENJOY IT A LITTLE ANYWAY
> 
> Come and visit me on tumblr:  
> Main: [nicijones](https://nicijones.tumblr.com/)  
> Charmie: [charmie-inspiration](https://charmie-inspiration.tumblr.com/)


End file.
